


I've kissed you a hundred times before our lips met

by KendraPendragon



Series: My tumblr writing [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Longing, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, sherlock being in love, sherlock holmes fighting his feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 17:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16068185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: “The best kiss is the one that has been exchanged a thousand times between the eyes before it reaches the lips.”— Anonymous (via impetrate, tumblr)





	I've kissed you a hundred times before our lips met

Sherlock would never admit it to himself.

He had done everything to lock it away deep in his mind palace months ago…maybe even years, determined to not get this in the way of his work.  
He thought he had managed well, still being the same around her; the woman who counts. And he was sure that over time, the feelings would rot in their cell and die.

Sherlock really wasn’t an expert when it came to the matters of the heart.

No one had told him that true love doesn’t just die.

He had never done research on the matter, so he was surprised every time he was betrayed by his eyes, their gaze fixing on her while she was working on the other side of the lab, how they lingered on her face, examining the little crease between her brows while she was concentrating, wandering down to the adorable tip of her nose which tended to twitch from time to time, and in the end settling on her mouth, inspecting every inch of her small lips, causing him to wonder how they would taste.

 

As soon as this thought echoed through his head, Sherlock snapped out of it.

The first couple of times, at least.

Sometimes he would flee the lab, sometimes he would scold himself and practically glue his eyes to the microscope, not seeing anything.

It was the beginning of his frustration.

And she only made it worse.

One of those times in the lab, with John being present and running some tests on the other table, Sherlock’s eyes wandered again, taking their by now traditional route over her lovely face, resting on her lips so bloody long he could almost taste them.

Against his will, his eyes decided to do a second round and hurried up to her eyes.

Sherlock gasped as he found her sparkling doe eyes staring back at him, asking him if they had understood correctly. 

  
The consulting detective blushed for the first time in his life and looked away, inwardly cursing himself for not having controlled his eyes, for slipping once again.

 

He stayed away from the lab for almost two weeks.  
  


He was haunted by her, nonetheless. Or even more so.

Although he had forbidden it, she was always on his mind. She was everywhere in his mind palace, in every single room.

When he entered the foyer, she was arranging the sunflowers on the small Queen Anne drop-leaf table (“ _I love sunflowers! They always make me happy._ ”).

When he entered the living room, she was lounging in his big yellow chair which he realized hadn’t been placed there by him, her legs draped over the armrest, her long brown hair falling over the other, reading one of his old books, her fingers caressing the red leather binding ( _“I’ve seen this big yellow comfy chair on Bond Street and instantly fell in love with it. It just invites you to sit down and read a book in it. Ah, if I only had the money…and the space.”_ ).

When he tried hurrying away from her, he entered the kitchen - a little square, empty room - only to find it having grown four times its original size and completely furnished in a homey cottage style ( _“When I was little, we spent the holiday at my grandmother who had the biggest, most amazing kitchen I’ve ever seen. We would spent most of the time in there, the grown-ups chatting while I inspected every inch of the inventory. Granny taught me how to cook and bake.”_ ). 

Of course she had invaded that room, too, standing at the stove, stirring in one of three pots, the cooking smells filling up his nostrils and causing his belly to rumble and his mouth to water.

If he didn't scream at that point, he would hurry upstairs, slam his bedroom door shut only to find her sitting at a dressing table (“ _I would love to have an old victorian dressing table someday. My mum had one of those, but it had wood worms. I cried when we had to throw it out.”_ ), dressed in nothing but a white silk night gown, her breasts covered by beautiful lace. She would turn to face him every time, a sensual smile on her face, reaching her hand out to him.

He never took it.

He was still fighting.

He was fighting a battle he had already lost.

 

At one point, it all became too much and he just  _had_  to see her again. Either that or he would have to tear down his mind palace.

 

She was at Bart’s of course and the smile she greeted him with was blinding.

He had brought John as back-up, as some kind of human buffer.

Not half an hour later he found himself staring at her again. And she was looking back.

Sherlock didn’t know how long they had just stared at each other, but it must have been quite some time, for John asked them what was going on and if he should leave.

Sherlock snapped at him. Molly giggled.

Sherlock fled, that sweet sound following him all the way back to Baker Street. 

 

He went back to the hospital alone the very next day. Molly said nothing, but she seemed to catch his eyes every single time they landed on her. She never looked away first. Always him.

He was still fighting the lost battle.

 

Weeks passed.

 

Sherlock fought for control, challenging himself that today he would  _not_  look at her, no matter what.

It was her fault that he lost every time.

She was moving closer to him with each visit until she was working right next to him. Now he could breathe her flowery scent. Feel the warmth evaporating from her body.

He glanced to the side ever so often.

So did she.

She smiled.

He blushed.

 

But he didn’t run.

 

It just felt too good to have her this close and to watch her from such a short distance.

 

 

Then came Christmas.

 

A holiday that’s never done anything good for Sherlock. He had a habit of being an arse on that day, being all stressed out by the party guests and the amount of deductions his mind automatically made.

Surprisingly enough, it all stopped when Molly came.

Sherlock hadn’t known how much he had waited for her to arrive. She wore a cheerful baby blue jumper with a penguin wearing a scarf on it combined with blue jeans. Her hair fell over her shoulders like a hazelnut coloured veil, decorated with a red bow hair clip on the left side of her head.

While she greeted and hugged the others, Sherlock couldn’t keep his eyes off her, lingering on her lips while she spoke and smiled.

No red lipstick.

His heart beat faster when she looked at him and greeted him with a nod.

 

Nothing else.

 

A nod and a smile. That’s all he got.

His face fell for just a second, the disappointment showing, but he quickly resumed a cold stare. He glanced at her only a second later, seeing an almost mischievous smile on her face.  
  


The celebration was cheerful.

Sherlock played the violin for Mrs. Hudson, knowing how happy it made his landlady. When he opened his eyes during his play, they instantly found Molly’s.

She was looking at him with sparkling eyes and a loving smile.

For the first time in over fifteen years, Sherlock played a wrong note. He whirled around quickly and squeezed his eyes shut to focus on his violin and nothing else, but he could see her face nonetheless.

  
Hours went by and Molly never came to him. She chatted with everyone, laughed and even danced with Greg and John in the limited space of the living room.

It drove Sherlock mad. Even though he was talking to Mrs. Hudson, his eyes were following her every move and every time Molly smiled, he looked at her lips.

  
He was aching.

He was physically aching.

  
His hands were twitching by now, wanting to just reach out to her, taker her hand or let his fingers comb through her shining hair.

  
He wanted to kiss her.

  
Gosh, how much he wanted to do that!

Those lips of hers drove him crazy!

Why had he forbidden John to hang up the mistle toe?!

It would have been the perfect excuse!

 

No! No, he reminded himself.

**No kissing!**

 

Kissing her would be an incalculabe risk.

He had no idea what would happen…whether he would be able to stop…  
  


She didn’t want to kiss him, anyway, Sherlock thought sourly while his eyes followed her through the room as she walked to the bathroom.

Even though she had caught him look at her several times, she never came to him. She didn’t care, obviously.

Being fed up and frustrated, he told the others he would go to bed and left the room with long, angry strides. When he opened his bedroom door, she was there.

 

Molly stood with her back to him, arms wrapped around herself, looking at the drawing hanging next to his lamp.

He stood there frozen for a moment, until she turned around and smiled.

Sherlock silently closed the door, his eyes not leaving hers.

 

For a moment he was unsure what to do, but when she started walking to him, so did he.

 

They met at the foot of his bed and his fingers wove through her hair as he pulled her close.

Molly melted against him, her hands placed on his chest, tenderly exploring it.  
  


“I love you”, he blurted out then and realized that this were the first words he spoke to her all evening.

“I know”, she replied with that little knowing smile she had been wearing for weeks now.

Sherlock swallowed hard, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones while his eyes hurried over her face.

“You’re always on my mind. I can’t stop thinking about you, Molly.”

Molly tilted her head and leaned into his touch. Her hands felt incredible on his chest.

“I know what that's like. Believe me”, she joked and he found himself smiling, pulling her even closer.  
  


“I will kiss you now”, he announced, having no idea why he did that.

“About time, I’d say.”

Sherlock chuckled at her cheeky remark and brushed a strand of hair out of her face before he leaned in, his eyes roaming over her face like they had a million times before.

  
Then he finally closed them, guided by Molly’s warmth and her breath.

  
The softness of her warm lips sent a thousand shivers down his spine. 

He sighed against them, now that he finally had a taste.  
  


Even though his imagination was quite vivid, he could never have imagined the extraordinary feeling that was kissing Molly.  
  


Nothing could have prepared him for the sensation of her tongue stroking his, her teeth gently nibbling at his full bottom lip.

Every inch of his skin was tingling and Sherlock locked his arms around her.

  
  
She wouldn’t get away now.

 

He wanted more kisses.

He  _needed_  more.

Always more.

Her kiss managed to silence the voices in his head.

Her kiss made the voices and the music outside fade away.

Her kiss caused his legs to weaken.

Her kiss made his heart race in his chest.

Her kiss made him fall in love with her even more.

 

He hadn’t thought it possible.


End file.
